crease into a crumpled fuzz and cry like a baby.
She climbed into the driver’s seat and hit her head on the steering wheel. Twice. Then found her mobile and phoned the cavalry. ‘Sash? Hey, how are things? Er...fine. Thanks. Except, I’m stuck on Long Acre with a flat tyre.’
Her sister’s usually unruffled voice ruffled. ‘Again? Cass, you really should get better tyres for that heap of junk you call a van. Seriously, let me buy you a new one.’
And be forever in someone else’s debt? Not likely. Cassie was collecting debts like other people collected supermarket stamps. Unfortunately, there was no special bonus gift at the end. ‘Yada-yada. Says the woman who drove a bright pink jalopy until she met Mr Rich and Famous. My van is great; it’s just the gutter that’s the problem.’ And she had to admit to buying budget tyres because anything else was just out of her reach. She inhaled. ‘Sasha, I’m in a weeny bit of trouble. Or will be. I’m supposed to be meeting a client over in Portobello in a few minutes. I’m going to try changing the tyre...or get a cab. Or try to beam myself over there. But I don’t want to leave the car here. I’ll get a ticket.’
‘Okay—you’ve tried the AA?’
‘I had to let the membership slide.’ A man carrying what looked suspiciously like a parking ticket machine and important jobsworth headwear appeared in her driver’s mirror four cars behind. She was only a couple of minutes over her expired parking time. He’d be okay with that. Yes, right, because London traffic warden compassion was legendary. Not. She felt as if she was being slowly squeezed underneath a giant ticking grandfather clock. ‘If I don’t move it there’ll be a tow and a fine.’
‘You want me to do a search and text you the numbers of some tow companies?’
‘No, no.’ That sounded expensive. ‘I’m sure I can sort it, somehow. I have a spare tyre and some sort of toolkit thing in the back; I just don’t know how to do it. But, actually...’ She hauled in more air, hating that she was going to ask her sister to do this, but asking anyway. ‘Would you be an absolute darling and call my client? Let him know I’m running a little late. He’s got another meeting later and I don’t want to make him late for that. He’d never forgive me.’
‘What? Me? Why?’
‘Because I’m trying not to look like an amateur.’ Another glance in the mirror showed her face covered in red blotches, hair sticking out at all angles and dark shadows under her eyes. Amateur? She looked like a bag lady in a chef’s dressing-up costume.
The ruffled voice turned into the bossy big sister’s. ‘And getting me to do the dirty work tells him you’re a professional, how? Who is it?’
‘Jack Brennan.’ It came out like a sigh. Damn. She steadied her voice, lowered it an octave. ‘Ahem. Jack Brennan.’
‘Ahhh.’ Her sister sighed too. ‘Dreamy Jack with that amazing voice? I could listen to him all day. Sure, I’ll call him; it’ll be an absolute pleasure.’
‘Down, woman. You are married. Second thoughts, I’ll call him myself. He’s a total time freak and I promised I wouldn’t be late.’ This was her last chance, she felt, with him. It had to work or she could kiss goodbye to him and his forty-nine dinner guests.
‘I’m sure he won’t mind. I watched him, you know. Last night. His eyes never left you.’
His hands had done a fine job too. And his mouth. Only it hadn’t been enough. Never enough. And beyond too much.
She glanced back in the mirror; now the red blotches were developing red blotches and the traffic warden had whirred his machine into action for the car three behind her. ‘Well, what do you expect? It’s a very nice dress—thanks for the loan.’
Sasha laughed. ‘He wasn’t looking at your dress—well, not so much. He was looking at you. And very intently, I might say. I think there could be a thing potential.’
‘No way. I couldn’t. I just
She climbed into the driver’s seat and hit her head on the steering wheel. Twice. Then found her mobile and phoned the cavalry. ‘Sash? Hey, how are things? Er...fine. Thanks. Except, I’m stuck on Long Acre with a flat tyre.’
Her sister’s usually unruffled voice ruffled. ‘Again? Cass, you really should get better tyres for that heap of junk you call a van. Seriously, let me buy you a new one.’
And be forever in someone else’s debt? Not likely. Cassie was collecting debts like other people collected supermarket stamps. Unfortunately, there was no special bonus gift at the end. ‘Yada-yada. Says the woman who drove a bright pink jalopy until she met Mr Rich and Famous. My van is great; it’s just the gutter that’s the problem.’ And she had to admit to buying budget tyres because anything else was just out of her reach. She inhaled. ‘Sasha, I’m in a weeny bit of trouble. Or will be. I’m supposed to be meeting a client over in Portobello in a few minutes. I’m going to try changing the tyre...or get a cab. Or try to beam myself over there. But I don’t want to leave the car here. I’ll get a ticket.’
‘Okay—you’ve tried the AA?’
‘I had to let the membership slide.’ A man carrying what looked suspiciously like a parking ticket machine and important jobsworth headwear appeared in her driver’s mirror four cars behind. She was only a couple of minutes over her expired parking time. He’d be okay with that. Yes, right, because London traffic warden compassion was legendary. Not. She felt as if she was being slowly squeezed underneath a giant ticking grandfather clock. ‘If I don’t move it there’ll be a tow and a fine.’
‘You want me to do a search and text you the numbers of some tow companies?’
‘No, no.’ That sounded expensive. ‘I’m sure I can sort it, somehow. I have a spare tyre and some sort of toolkit thing in the back; I just don’t know how to do it. But, actually...’ She hauled in more air, hating that she was going to ask her sister to do this, but asking anyway. ‘Would you be an absolute darling and call my client? Let him know I’m running a little late. He’s got another meeting later and I don’t want to make him late for that. He’d never forgive me.’
‘What? Me? Why?’
‘Because I’m trying not to look like an amateur.’ Another glance in the mirror showed her face covered in red blotches, hair sticking out at all angles and dark shadows under her eyes. Amateur? She looked like a bag lady in a chef’s dressing-up costume.
The ruffled voice turned into the bossy big sister’s. ‘And getting me to do the dirty work tells him you’re a professional, how? Who is it?’
‘Jack Brennan.’ It came out like a sigh. Damn. She steadied her voice, lowered it an octave. ‘Ahem. Jack Brennan.’
‘Ahhh.’ Her sister sighed too. ‘Dreamy Jack with that amazing voice? I could listen to him all day. Sure, I’ll call him; it’ll be an absolute pleasure.’
‘Down, woman. You are married. Second thoughts, I’ll call him myself. He’s a total time freak and I promised I wouldn’t be late.’ This was her last chance, she felt, with him. It had to work or she could kiss goodbye to him and his forty-nine dinner guests.
‘I’m sure he won’t mind. I watched him, you know. Last night. His eyes never left you.’
His hands had done a fine job too. And his mouth. Only it hadn’t been enough. Never enough. And beyond too much.
She glanced back in the mirror; now the red blotches were developing red blotches and the traffic warden had whirred his machine into action for the car three behind her. ‘Well, what do you expect? It’s a very nice dress—thanks for the loan.’
Sasha laughed. ‘He wasn’t looking at your dress—well, not so much. He was looking at you. And very intently, I might say. I think there could be a thing potential.’
‘No way. I couldn’t. I just
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